


Bombs Don't Whistle

by nonbinarycoded



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: RvB Angst War, Trans Character, Transphobia, also be careful pls bc there's some very brief mentions of, at the beginning, this was written for the
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinarycoded/pseuds/nonbinarycoded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitters' first encounter with the New Republic of Chorus is under less-than-desirable circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bombs Don't Whistle

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the RvB Angst War! (http://renaroo.tumblr.com/post/140027656371) Prompt: "Can you write how one or some of the lieutenants joined the rebels?"

Bitters had never really had much of a home. He had blankets and something to keep the rain off him, sure, and that was more than some people had. But even the most cheerful optimist would be hard pressed to call his leaky tarp-covered, dirty back corner of an alleyway a home.

Still, home it was to Bitters and both his brothers. Bitters had tried on many occasions to get his brothers to go back and stay in the homeless shelter where they’d be safer and warmer (“They only kicked _me_ out, and who cares if they call me Rachel instead of Antoine, I don't need to stay there but you guys should,”) but both had refused. They wanted to protect their younger brother, especially when other people didn't think they had a younger brother to protect. They thought they were being good siblings.

Bitters thought they were being morons.

It didn't matter, though, when he knew he couldn't do anything to change it. So in the alley corner they stayed, going to school during the day and sleeping together at night. Or, in Bitters’ case, skipping class during the day. He didn't need any of those classes, he justified. Not more than he and his brothers needed to eat. So while his brothers were in class, Bitters found himself slinking through the aisles of a shop, trying to sneak whatever he could into his jacket. His pockets were mostly full, but he figured he could grab just a bit more. Just as he shoved the last box into his jacket, the clerk rounded the corner of the aisle.

“HEY-- I saw that, kid, _get over here-_ ”

Bitters, of course, was going to do no such thing. The clerk was blocking him from running for the door, so Bitters spun and ran for the back of the shop. He had it planned out perfectly, he’d lure the clerk back there, make a break for the door, and lose the clerk by running off behind the building.

What actually happened was Bitters spun, took three steps, and then his world exploded into a burst of light and heat.

He hit the ground hard, rolled, and hit the wall harder. A set of shelves toppled and came about a foot from crushing him before catching on the wall above him. The shelves and his distance from the front of the store, luckily, protected him from the second grenade thrown into front window of the building. Unluckily, with how close the shelves were to him, and how much had fallen off them and on top of him, Bitters was effectively pinned to the ground.

With his ears still ringing from the explosions, all he could do at the moment was panic. The streets outside had suddenly been filled with the sound of gunfire; with every shop pressed as close together as they were, Bitters could hear the screams of people in the surrounding buildings and on the street in front. They were gone from that storefront in minutes, but they continued their slow progression down the street, treating every building almost the same as the first. Once Bitters was sure they wouldn’t be able to see him, he began to try to free himself from below the shelves. The weight was near crushing him, and he couldn’t help but think that this all could have been avoided if he’d just decided to go to school that day like his brothers.

He froze as he ran that thought through his head again. His brothers were still at school.

With renewed adrenaline electrifying his veins, he forced his way out from under the shelves and stumbled for the door. He had to step over the body of the clerk, who’d been too close to the window when the grenades had come through. Bitters barely noticed he was there. He rushed out the door and turned down the alley next to it, disappearing behind the building to hide from the soldiers in front of the store.

_His brothers were still at the school._

It was only once he was outside that Bitters realized just how many soldiers there were. Squads of them four and five strong were on every street, two or three squads to a street, destroying windows and shooting into buildings with abandon. Maybe he’d made a mistake in leaving the relative peace of the store.

_His brothers were still at the school._

He decided it was too late to go back and pressed on, taking alley after side street after shortcut to Cadence High School. _They couldn’t hurt a school,_ he thought, even though his churning stomach doubted that. He’d seen news reports, heard stories of exactly what the Feds could do and had done in the past. He’d heard of the ways they’d tried to take care of the groups of rebels popping up across Chorus. The more frequently the groups appeared, the more drastic the Feds’ measures became, until Bitters was left unsure whether or not destroying a school in the collateral damage really was across the line for that army. He was unsure until he was unable to hear his thoughts; a plane flying overhead was so loud he couldn’t think. He glanced up, and when he saw something fall out of the plane, his stomach dropped.

_His brothers were still at the school._

Bombs don’t whistle, not like in cartoons or movies. Or perhaps they do; Bitters couldn’t hear much of anything as he watched the bomb descend. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he only watched it until it disappeared behind the buildings between he and the school, and then he was flat on the ground when it shook and pitched him forwards. He could feel his face scrape the dirt, could feel blood run down his forehead and palms when he pushed himself back up.

The ground spun beneath him as he stood and ran again. His footsteps thudded in time to the car alarms that the bomb had set off, and every shaky breath he drew was harder than the last as tears began to choke his throat and cloud his vision. By the time he made it there he was gasping for air, but he couldn’t let himself stop until he saw the school.

‘What was left of the school’ would have been more accurate. The outermost walls were still partially standing, but the rest of the building had been destroyed entirely. There were some people moving around the edges of the wreckage, helping people out of it or escaping themselves, but not nearly as many as had been in the school when the bomb hit. Bitters didn’t have to think twice before pushing forwards one more time and digging in the wreckage, screaming his brothers’ names. He was so exhausted from the run there, however, that he collapsed in the rubble, just digging at what he was able to reach.

As he regained his strength, he began to move around the remains of the school, digging where he thought he heard voices. He helped several people free, none of which were his brothers. Slowly, the amount of voices around him grew louder, not only with survivors, but with the arrival of new people. Bitters didn’t look up. He knew more people were here, but he hadn’t found his brothers yet, so he wasn’t going to move. Of course, the new arrivals had different plans for him. One came up to him and spun him around by his shoulder to get a better look at him. As soon as Bitters got a glimpse of armor, he swung a fist at the helmet in front of him.

This was, in hindsight, not the best idea when the helmet in front of him belonged to a trained soldier. The soldier grabbed his arm and forced him down to the ground; Bitters was never the best fighter, and he wasn’t in any position to fight at the moment anyways. That didn’t mean he was going to stay quiet, though.

“LET ME GO-- _LET ME GO--_ This is _your fault_ , _YOU_ hurt these people, _you--_ ”

“ _We aren’t Feds_ ,” the soldier snaps, and Bitters’ words die in his throat. “We didn’t do this, we’re trying to help you. We hate the Feds just as much as you do. How old even are you, kid?”

“Eighteen,” is Bitters’ automatic answer. It’s a lie, it’s four years a lie and Bitters is sure the soldier knows it, but he doesn’t care what she knows at the moment. He can see students being escorted away from the wreckage behind them and he refuses to be taken away with the rest of the kids.

“You’re not-- Alright, fine. What’s your name?”

Bitters can’t find a reason to lie this time around. He squints, but answers truthfully. “Antoine Bitters.”

“Well Antoine, you are _very_ lucky to have survived this explosion-”

“I wasn’t _in_  the explosion.”

“-And now that we know you’re okay enough to take a swing at someone, we know you’re okay enough to come back to our rescue ships.” 

Bitters jerked his arm away from the soldier and stood back up. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, glaring.

“We’re not letting a kid stay in an area this dangerous--” 

“I’m not a kid and I’m _not_ leaving. I’m staying to dig people out.”

There’s a long pause while Bitters glares up at the woman, and she just stares right back down at him. Eventually, she sighs. Not a sigh of exasperation, but one of acceptance.

“Antoine, do you know who we are?”

“Should I?”

“After an attack like this? Yes, you should. We’re the New Republic of Chorus, an army of rebels that rose up against the Feds and the government they’re protecting. The government that decides bombing _schools_ is an acceptable war tactic.” The woman spits the words like they’re acid on her tongue; even with her face hidden behind a helmet, Bitters wilts beneath the glare he knows is there. “I’m impressed you’re demanding to stay. You know, the New Republic is always looking for people that’re this…” She pauses, and Bitters knows that pause. That’s the pause of an adult that doesn’t want to call a kid pigheaded, and always ends up settling on the word- “Determined.”

Bitters looks at her, at the suit of armor she’s in, and then looks around at the others in similar armor slowly digging survivors from the wreckage of the school. “...Just help me dig.” 

The soldier seems to take this as a fine enough answer, and she nods. “I’m Kimball, by the way. Lieutenant Vanessa Kimball.”

Bitters nods back, and together the two start back through the rubble, listening for voices.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus headcanon that I couldn't fit into the fic without ending it on a weirder note: Bitters never does pull his brothers out of the school's wreckage, but once he joins the New Republic, they're able to produce an official list of all the bodies found deceased in that attack. This all took place two years before the Blood Gulch Crew gets to Chorus, and Bitters has never to this day checked that list. He's treating it like a kind of Schrodinger's Cat situation- if he never opens the lid, they're still alive.


End file.
